


Trying To Be Cool

by RestlessWanderings



Series: Clarity [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Pink Haired Hux, Some angst, pink haired hux au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RestlessWanderings/pseuds/RestlessWanderings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kylo is dazzled and Hux knows exactly how to play it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying To Be Cool

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blue Milkshake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6632449) by [llyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyn/pseuds/llyn). 



Kylo was going to kill someone.

Or, rather, he would very much like to, but if he were to bring out his lightsaber and start a massacre, it might bring attention to him. Normally, he wouldn’t give a kriff, but his Master had specifically ordered him to keep a low profile, something he was not prone to doing. However, this once, he would do his best.

The planet he found himself on reminded him of his target’s homeworld, Arkanis. Long, rainy days seldom changing. The nights, however, were vastly different: the rain stopped. The perpetual cloud cover cleared and allowed the three small moons that orbited the forested planet to light the ground. In fact, the nights were as bright as the day.

Kylo drummed his fingers on his thigh, keeping his expression carefully neutral as the band began playing a slower song, allowing the dancers rest. On this lonely planet at the edge of the Outer Rim, nights meant celebration and revelry. It also meant color. The brightness of the dancers’ clothes and the colorful fabrics hung around the large market square fended off what little darkness lurked in the forest surrounding the port town.

He hated it.

He sniffed. Paused. Took a larger inhale, savoring the scent. In his experience, port towns tended to smell the same: sweat, grease, and the distinct ozone-fire-hot-metal smell. It was a mixture of scents almost encoded into his DNA. So to was the feel of the town, that hard-working, edged-with-danger, lackadaisical-but-sharp-eyed ambiance that kept slithering into his mind and disrupting his train of thought.

It brought back memories of the _Millenium Falcon_ and warm fur and kind eyes and “hey kiddo, how about we fly somewhere today” and –  

_Han would love it here._

He shook his head. His father, that _coward,_ was dead by Kylo’s own hand, body burning up with the rest of Starkiller Base.

The bolt scar on his hip twinged, an ever-present reminder of his failure. He sucked in a deep breath and settled himself. What was done couldn’t be undone.

His eyes scanned the crowd again, looking for his target’s distinct build. This was a port town, after all – most of the men would be rather burly and rough, crass and bull-like. His target was decidedly _not_ any of those.

Amidst the bright array of colors, he spotted a head of pink hair. He skimmed his target’s body, noting the slim shoulders and small waist. Kylo smiled. Scowled.

He hated not having his helmet.

Relaxing deeper into his chair, he shrugged to himself, reaching out with the Force to skim his target’s mind for confirmation. He got it the moment his mind touched Brendol Elan Hux’s.

Kylo smiled. Frowned. How in the kriff was he going to get him back to the First Order discreetly?

 

*

 

Despite popular belief, Hux wasn’t foolish. Nor stupid. Not a twat. Abandoning the Academy and in turn the First Order had taken months of careful thought and planning. Contrary to the crock his father spouted, he hadn’t made a hasty decision.

Slightly rushed, due to extenuating circumstances? Perhaps. But hasty? Not by any means.

In fact, he’d made the best decision of his life.

However, picking this particular planet to hide out on was quickly becoming one of the worst decisions of his life. People had been sent after him before, usually low-life assassins that were mediocre at best. He’d always been able to outsmart them, abandoning them on whatever planet he’d been bunking on before they’d even realized he’d been there. But this? This black-clad mongrel so obviously watching him? For him catch Hux so unaware was utterly unacceptable.

 _Idiot,_ Hux thought, watching the black-clad man out of the corner of his eye as he served someone their drink. He knew the look of the First Order, even in as unrefined a state as the man presented. _Fool. Three more days. I needed three. More. Days for my ship to be ready so I could leave this accursed rock._

It’s not that he didn’t like the planet – there was familiarity in the constant rain and overcast days. No, what he detested was the voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like his father’s:

_“Sentiment is a weakness, son. Especially undue sentiment.”_

And that’s what had led him to this rock when his ship had malfunctioned beyond his capabilities (which was a shock in and of itself).

The slow music kicked into higher gear and the square quickly grew crowded. As more people in increasingly colorful dresses began spinning around, Hux’s shoulder’s became rigid. He straightened, donning a neutral face, and shivered. 

 _No._ He shook his head. _I’ll never be that again._

Hux forced himself to settle, forced his stiff shoulders into a relaxed stance. His training still crept up on him even after the past years, encoded more deeply in his system than some of his natural instincts.

(And that’s why he ran – he wouldn’t be programmed, wouldn’t be stripped of his free will, wouldn’t wouldn’t _wouldn’t.)_

Hux took a deep breath as the black-clad man made his way over to the bar. He looked young, with an asymmetrical face that somehow _worked,_ a few moles and freckles here and there, and black hair so thick that Hux took offense. The moonlight accentuated his features, throwing the silver scar across his face into high definition. He was tall, muscular, and the grace of the man’s movements gave him away as a fighter.

He was lovely in an unconventional way.

Hux blinked, tracking the man’s movements. They were smooth but not at all calculated. He moved as though he were missing something, as though he were hiding something. Hux nodded. More than likely, the man was more proficient in hand-to-hand rather than shooting.

They were always going for Hux’s weak points, weren’t they?

 _Still,_ Hux thought. _Not at all bad looking._

Inwardly, Hux groaned. He was not, under any circumstance, going to have _feelings_ for someone who was about to kill him. Hux turned his back to the man and shook his head. He could just be a foreigner with no sense of fun or humor. After all, anyone who knew anything about this planet knew that flying under the radar meant sticking out as much as physically possible.

He served up another few drinks, watching the black-clad man as he chose a corner seat and stared unabashedly at Hux. He sighed. If the man thought he was being subtle, he was terribly mistaken. 

Hux, never one to retreat, strode over to the man with an extra sway of his hips, donning his best gauntlet-thrown grin. It grew sharper when the man blushed. Hux almost laughed when the man glared at him – he was an open book.

_Imagine that. I didn’t think wearing every emotion on one’s sleeve was a thing among assassins._

The man’s frown deepened.

“What can I do you for?” Hux asked, grabbing a glass and cleaning it.

The man’s eyes widened. “What?”

Hux raised a brow and stifled a laugh. “You’re at a bar, so you must be thirsty. If you’re in the mood for a therapist, however, go somewhere else.”

The man’s frown returned. “Um.”

“I’ll need your ID.”

“What?” 

Hux snorted. “Is that all you can say?” The man’s eye twitched and his nostrils flared. “I can’t serve you anything without your ID.”

“I don’t have one.”

Hux sighed. “Then that’s too bad.”

The man sneered. “Aren’t you supposed to be a bartender? You don’t need my ID to get me a drink.”

“Actually, I do. Unless you don’t want to get drunk off your ass? If not, I make a pretty mean milkshake.”

The man ran a hand through his hair, refusing to meet Hux’s gaze. He took a moment to enjoy the view, committing it to memory.

 _For future reference,_ Hux thought, nodding, _in case he ever shows up to kill me again. Definitely not because he’s the loveliest creature I’ve seen in years._

“Fine,” the man breathed. “I’ll take a Blue Milkshake.”

“Alright darling,” Hux said with a wink. The man sputtered, the blush coming back in full force. He tucked his hair behind his ears and warmth bloomed in Hux’s chest at the sight of them – red-tipped and somewhat stuck out.

Hux chuckled as he turned away. _Such a goofy looking man. How is he an assassin?_

He began making the shake, taking his time, occasionally running a hand through his hair and undoing a few strands from his sloppy bun. The Academy may have had a strict, militaristic air with mostly military classes, but the most promising students were allowed extra classes. One of them happened to be in the art of seduction, mostly for those on the Command Track. Hux, being the exemplary student he was, excelled.

He shifted his stance, leaning towards one of the beams of moonlight coming in from the thatched roof so that it perfectly reflected the pink in his hair and softened his features. From his periphery he saw the man’s jaw drop. Satisfied that he was sufficiently distracted, Hux palmed a knock-out drug of his own design from his pocket into his hand, quickly adding it to the bubbly blue mixture. He left the miniscule empty bottle on the counter and stirred the drink one last time.

Hux swaggered back to the man, putting the milkshake in front of him and leaning one hip on the counter. He crossed his arms.

“So, do I get a name?”

 The man blinked. “What?” His eyes were warm in their confusion, dark like coffee grounds and instantly alluring.

Hux shook his head. _No. Not alluring. Just pleasant to look at. Nothing more._

“You’re the only one in speaking radius not drunk off their ass. I wouldn’t mind a conversation in between drinks. So, do I get a name?”

The man swallowed. Hesitated. “Ben. My name is Ben.”

 “I’m Hux.”

Ben smiled and took a sip from the drink. “That’s a nice name. Really.”

Hux stifled a laugh. “An old family name, I’m afraid. But they’re long gone.”

Ben nodded and took another sip. “I know,” he slurred, swaying on his seat. His eyes were cloudy, and Hux’s heart clenched at the muddy tone they’d taken. “I was sent to get you.”

Hux shifted, moving so he leaned on his forearms, his nose almost touching Ben’s. “Is that so? Who sent you? My father?" 

Ben shook his head, soft eyes meeting Hux’s unflinchingly. “Supreme Leader. Wants your skills.” He sighed, a bittersweet smile slipping onto his face. “You’re quite beautiful. Like the sun.” His hand came up and tugged lightly on a strand of Hux’s hair. “So pretty. Hurts to look.”

Hux frowned. Somehow, this idiot was terribly endearing. “I won’t hurt anyone, Ben. Especially not for the First Order. Why else would I be in the Outer Rim?”

Ben moved to take another sip of the milkshake but flinched back as though he’d been burned. Hux grabbed his shirt to keep him steady, not wanting to draw attention. 

“You –” Ben sputtered, cloudy eyes wide. “You drugged me!”

“Obviou–” Something closed around his neck and he choked, one hand reaching for Ben’s hand. Hux was met with the skin on his throat and his heart skipped a few beats. Ben wobbled, and as he did the pressure around Hux’s neck loosened and disappeared altogether. He drew in a deep breath, one hand still entangled in Ben’s shirt, keeping the unconscious man upright.

“Kriffing hell,” Hux muttered, rubbing his neck. Of course. Of course he’d be a kriffing Force user.

Hux moved around the bar top and slung one of Ben’s arms around his shoulders, walking him out as though he were merely an incredibly drunk patron. The band, with it’s rapid tempo, provided decent cover. Too many people were too focused on their own movements to pay attention to the movements of Hux and his luggage.

He dragged Ben to the rear of an old garage, propping him up so that it looked like he was sleeping lightly rather than fully out. Hux panted, wiping sweat from his brow. He noticed the holster around Ben’s waist and searched it, intending to find and take a blaster.

However, he wasn’t expecting a tubular piece of metal. It was an odd design and looked heavily beaten up. The only thing that looked relatively well cared for was the air vents at the hilt.

“What do we have here?” he muttered, fiddling with it until he found a button. He pressed it, and at the fabled red glow his heart stopped and his blood ran cold.

He’d heard stories. Everyone had. The Knights of Ren weren’t exactly stealthy, and only one person in the galaxy carried such a weapon.

“I can’t believe it. I drugged _Kylo Ren?_ Kriffing hell,” he whispered. The buzzing weapon shuddered slightly and pain began blooming at the base of his skull, fanning upward. As it did it grew sharper in it’s intensity until Hux’s eyes were stinging and he was gasping for breath. With pain-weakened fingers he turned the weapon off. The moment the fabled red glow disappeared so did the pain and he took a deep breath, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.

He gulped as he fastened the lightsaber back onto Ben’s belt.

A part of him felt something akin to pride. Supreme Leader Snoke had sent his best, most vicious, most ruthless knight after insignificant him? Priceless.

Hux glared at Ben. “Screw you, Ben, for making me feel something for you.”

He smirked. He knew what the notorious knight looked like without his helmet. That was dangerous, valued information. 

He pulled a knife from his boot and cut off a lock of his hair. He placed it in Ben – no, _Ren’s –_ hand. Then he drew a small notebook from his pocket and ripped out a page, looking at the ground for charcoal. When he found a piece he wrote a quick note and placed it in the same hand with his lock of hair. 

A patch of color in the otherwise gray garage caught his eyes. The flowers were a bit wilted, but he still recognized them from his mother’s vast gardens: camellias. With a snort of laughter, he plucked some of the flowers and wove them into a crown, placing them on the Knight’s head.

He laughed. He didn’t look so evil now.

His heart lurched when he stood to leave. B- _Ren_ looked so young, so innocent in unconsciousness. He shook his head. This infatuation would have to die. Immediately.

He turned and headed for the docks, smiling when he remembered the note:

_I hate the sun. Compare me to it again and I’ll give you something far more unpleasant to remember me by._

**Author's Note:**

> I love love LOVE Pink Haired Hux AU and I've been wanting to write it for a while so I finally said fuck it and did it.
> 
> Camellia's in general mean admiration, perfection, and good luck. Maybe Hux knows it, maybe he doesn't.


End file.
